deficiency
by Nylex
Summary: Sequel to 'Perfection'. Snape and Hermione have loads of snarky kinky sex, Harry and Draco hump like rabbits, and Ron gets hit on by Luna Lovegood. [Sevione][Drarry]
1. I

**deficiency  
**[1]

* * *

"I just…I don't understand," Harry said, his mouth tightening. "_Why_ would you want to sleep with_ Snape_?"

Hermione had expected some opposition to her plan, but this was getting ridiculous, and she was quickly becoming tired. "I'm curious," she answered, exasperated. "I want to know more about this, I never really _thought_ about sex from this kind of research standpoint and he's an easy lab partner. Plus it's _fun_."

"Shut up," Ron said, looking faintly green. "Never tell me again what it's like to bugger Snape."

She was, in fact, very pleased with Ron's reaction. He had originally thought it was a joke, and then put his fist through a wall when she convinced him otherwise; now, he seemed content to sit back with Harry and try not to retch. Hermione thought he was overreacting—it wasn't as though she had picked Mad-Eye or Dumbledore for her to experiment with.

"I mean, why didn't you just come to one of us?" Harry asked. Of the two of them, Harry was taking it the best, although he looked almost disappointed. "I mean…it's _Snape_, Hermione. I know things are different now, than when we were kids, but he's still a git. Just for _spite_."

As Harry was talking, Hermione suddenly remembered a particularly eloquent insult that Snape had tossed at her this morning. She smiled. "Of course he's a git. If he was nice it would be awkward. That's why I didn't want to do this with either of you, don't you see? It would be so…"

"Weird," Ron finished.

"Exactly." Hermione sat back, relieved. "And I wanted us to stay _friends_, of course."

"So what's the point of all this? Are you two, er, a couple?" Harry asked. There was an odd muscle spasm by his eye.

She made a face. "Of course not. He's not my _boyfriend_. He's a research partner. Look, I promise it won't be weird if we just ignore it—I just wanted to give you two a heads up, in case something happened."

"Like what?" Ron asked, sounding numb.

"Well, in case you walked in on us," Hermione said brightly. "We'll put up wards of course, but just to be safe."

"Oh Merlin," Harry shuddered, sounding sick. "I'm never going to get that image out of my head."

"Next time, knock," Hermione told him cheerfully, and stood up. "It'll be _fine_. We'll go to Hogsmeade later and grab a butterbeer, all right? Don't _worry_ about it."

Harry and Ron waited in silence, looking at the walls, trying not to think of their old professor in bed with their best friend. Hermione left with a swish of her skirt and left them alone with their thoughts, which were quite distracting to say the least.

"Why _Snape_?" Ron finally asked aloud.

"She could have picked someone who's less…" Harry faltered.

"Old?"

"I was thinking mean," Harry pointed out, "but yeah, he's really old, isn't he?"

"How old _is_ he, come to think of it?" Ron shook his head.

"Same age as Remus, isn't he?" Harry said, thinking back to the Pensieve.

A long pause.

"Well, Remus isn't that old."

"Nah, he's thirty-six, I think. Thirty-seven, maybe. Late thirties."

Ron shuddered powerfully. "It's _weird_."

"Yeah. Yeah, it's definitely weird."

* * *

"Pass me the butter, Miss Granger," Snape ordered, not looking up from his book.

"You've got two functioning arms," Hermione murmured, slowly perusing the newspaper.

"In order to reach the plate in question I would have to burrow through the mountain of hair currently blocking my path," Snape said acidly, turning a page. "And seeing as the plate is right next to your elbow, I would also have to topple you aggressively out of your chair."

"You've got a _wand_," Hermione mentioned idly.

"Which I would prefer not to use."

"It's not my fault if you're too lazy to use your _wand_," she said, snapping the newspaper.

"If you do not pass me the butter I shall be forced to consume this toast without it, which shall result in a lackluster breakfast," Snape said, not looking up from his book.

"Use jam then, there's plenty of it."

"I despise jam."

"Then skip the toast."

"You could have milked a cow and _churned_ me some butter by this time," Snape retorted.

"And you could have gotten up and walked around the chair," Hermione said sweetly.

The whole breakfast table was watching them, somewhat aghast. After a long moment, Hermione finally passed the butter, and Snape spread it over his toast without a word.

"This is so weird," Ron muttered to Harry.

* * *

Snape didn't like stopping and thinking how he got in this position. The position was currently sitting in his armchair, the one he liked best because it was close to the fire and within easy reach of the bookshelf, while Hermione Granger practiced her blowjob technique. It was not the _strangest_ situation he had ever been in (no, he had seen much more bizarre things in his years) but it was definitely in the top five. And possibly the most enjoyable.

He put a steadying hand in her hair. "Slower," he instructed. "Smoother. You're not trying to vacuum for crumbs, Miss Granger."

Obediently, she slackened her breakneck pace and twirled her tongue experimentally. His fingers tightened in her curls and her eyes crinkled in a smirk.

"Loosen your grip, relax," Snape told her, managing not to sound desperate. Those dark chocolate eyes looked up at him, her pretty rosebud lips stretched beautifully around his length, and he held himself at bay while she found a steady rhythm. "Not everything is improved by speed, Miss Granger, remember that," Snape lectured while attempting not to roll his eyes back in his head.

That wickedly talented tongue flicked once, twice, and he lost his head for a moment. So to speak.

When he came back down to earth, he realized she was straddling his lap and nibbling his ear. "That was fun," she cooed, linking her arms around his neck. "And much less disgusting than I imagined."

"Oral sex is an art, Miss Granger," he managed. Merlin, but he was drowsy. "And often hideously inaccurately portrayed in literature."

"I know," she said, her brow furrowing, "I always read about women sucking off eleven or twelve inches no problem, but they must have throats like canyons because I can't swallow half of yours. And you're nowhere near eleven inches, more like eight."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"I find it ironic that a few days ago you were reprimanding me for writing 'cock', which was apparently vulgar to you."

She colored deeply. "This is different."

"How so?"

"It's all about the intention. I was relaying information, you were just being crude."

"Ah, I see. Well, perhaps this information shall be useful to you: I am rapidly losing all feeling in my legs, and since you are not a child and I am not Saint Nicholas, it would be best if you removed yourself from my lap."

Hermione got off and straightened her skirt, checking to see if her blouse buttons were done up correctly. "You would make a terrible Saint Nicholas," she noted. "You'd give all the children coal or potion sets."

"All children are worthless blubbering brats."

"You were a child once," Hermione laughed.

"No, I never was," Snape muttered somewhat bitterly.

Impulsively, Hermione kissed his cheek on the way out the door.

* * *

Harry stood outside the Three Broomsticks, blowing into his hands to keep them warm. Snow was beginning to come down, and his breath exploded out of him in big icy plumes. Even though Christmas had come and gone, people were still in the holiday spirit and were still wishing each other a good night and a happy new year.

It would be New Year's Day the day after tomorrow. Whenever a new year dawned it always gave Harry a queer feeling, as though time were rushing him along. Even with the War over and done with, nothing quite felt the same. He missed Hogwarts and even the Dursley's, whom he hadn't seen since two Christmas's ago.

Perhaps he just missed Ginny. They had dated steadily for three years, until Ginny set her sights on the Head Auror position in the Ministry. It was odd, seeing the blushing, squeaking girl he once knew, now apprehending criminals and performing complex magic. They wanted different things from life, and as they grew up, it didn't last.

Things were just different.

He saw Hermione come around the corner, her cheeks pink from the cold, wearing a dull green scarf that seemed familiar; he realized with a jolt that it was an old one of Snape's. The image of a grudging Professor Snape wrapping it around her neck popped into his head, and he frowned.

God, that thought was strange. Snape, as far as Harry was concerned, was an asexual being—the way all old teachers are. But he was intellectually Hermione's match, and he supposed they suited each other well. It was still weird to think of them together. Walking in on them had been a nasty shock, to say the least.

"Waiting for your date, Potter?"

Harry turned around and saw someone he never thought he would see again, standing in the snow: Draco Malfoy.

Emotions stirred in his chest and he was seized with the sudden urge to punch him. Malfoy had a very punchable face.

"What are you doing here," Harry growled.

"Enjoying the Christmas sights," Malfoy answered, looking up at the snow. "I'm surprised to see you around these parts, don't you have criminals to throw in Azkaban?"

"Criminals like your father, maybe," Harry shot back.

Malfoy sneered. "My father was acquitted."

"And disgraced."

"Well, we can't _all_ be saviors of the universe, can we, Potter? Some of us have the play the villains." Malfoy said, his face tight.

"Harry! Where's—oh." Hermione stopped short and glared at Draco, her mouth tightening. "Malfoy. How nice to see you again."

"_Thank_ you, Granger. I was just trying to wring a polite 'hello' out of Potter, but it's like trying to get blood from a stone. Or a Galleon from a Weasley, I suppose."

Hermione scowled at him, and exchanged a glance with Harry. Telepathically they beamed death threats at Malfoy's head.

"Don't you have better places to be?" Hermione asked brusquely. "Rather than mooning around an old school hangout?"

"I actually do—I'm meeting a journalist for an exclusive interview," Malfoy seemed delighted for the opportunity to boast. He straightened his lapels. "Potter, do be sure to stop by my office. I was just hired as an intern for the Minister, so you might be seeing me around the place."

Harry's jaw dropped. "_What_?" he thundered.

"Oh, didn't you know? Yes, I'm Kinglsey's errand boy. It's a stepping stone, but I'm in direct contact with all the Aurors. Which means I'll be working with Ginny Weasley, I heard she was back on the market?"

Harry's back molars ground together. "Stay away from Ginny, Malfoy, I'm warning you."

"The blood-traitor still a touchy subject? I wouldn't want to risk the wrath of the Great and Powerful Potter." Malfoy said, backing up with his hands in his pockets. That infuriating grin was still on his face. "See you around, Potter!"

"He's a bastard," Hermione mentioned

"Yeah," Harry grumbled, watching the sleek blonde head of Malfoy disappear in the crowd. "Yeah, he is."

* * *

_Literally my skype chat last night with my friend went like this:_

_Friend: so how's your fic coming  
Me: finished!  
Friend: WOW that's awesome! congrats!  
Me: thanks, I'm thinking of writing a sequel  
Me: where snape and Hermione have loads of kinky sex  
Me: harry and Malfoy hump each other in hallways like horny rabbits  
Friend: and argue like old women  
Me: and ron gets hit on by luna lovegood  
Me: oh they all bicker like old married couples  
Friend: we should have written Harry Potter  
Me: there'd be gei wizard buttsecks everywhere  
Friend: the world does not have enough gay wizard buttsecks_

_On that note, please enjoy! Also, if you haven't read Perfection yet I strongly suggest going back and reading it, otherwise the mystery of how Snape and Hemione banged will be left unsolved. _**-nylex**


	2. II

**deficiency  
**[2]

* * *

"Tell me, Miss Granger, where did you get this idea?"

Hermione tested the silken bonds, tugging hard with both hands until she felt certain the knot was tight. "In a book," she answered brightly, smiling up at Severus who was likewise examining the firm knots. "There's an excellent one that I found in the Black study, it goes into this whole thing with _fantastic_ detail. There were diagrams and everything!"

Yes, he could imagine. "There are several very good literary resources on this certain branch of Dark Magic. Unsurprisingly, due to human's obsession with procreation, it's often the one most studied. And I must say that for a _beginner_, you show promise but you lack forethought."

Hermione frowned instantly. "How so?"

"Your knots. Far too tight, they'll cut off blood flow. Not to mention these positions are often discussed with a partner to be certain everything is…satisfying. I'd much prefer to keep your legs apart, rather than together."

She wriggled her toes, and glanced down at her long legs, which had been wrapped together with more silk ribbon. "I suppose…" Hermione trailed off uncertainly.

Snape untied the ribbons around her wrists and knees, and then spread the articles out on the bedspread. "Silk, while much more appealing to the eye, is infinitely more dangerous than normal rope. The knots cinch and doesn't release easily, unless you have time to pick them apart, which I most certainly do not."

"The book recommended them," Hermione insisted. "And handcuffs, as well."

He raised an eyebrow. "That book sounds rather outdated. I would hazard a guess that it expects the submissive partner to be a literal footstool to the dominant partner, as well as suggests blood bonds and other such things."

Hermione's brow furrowed.

"Lie back on the bed," Snape ordered, loosening his ascot. "Let me handle this."

Grudgingly, his former student lay back and held her arms above her head. Snape corrected her without a word, pushing her arms out to the side. His wand flicked and Conjured several long lengths of soft hemp rope, which he used to secure Hermione to the bedposts. She watched him with narrow, untrusting eyes and he quirked a brow as he worked on the knots.

"This is very unorthodox," he prodded.

"I want to try it," Hermione said stubbornly. "I don't mind my hands being tied, it's sort of fun."

"Securing one's hands with a necktie is far different than pinning one down to a bed without the ability to move," he warned flatly.

"Shut up and tie my foot," Hermione snapped, lifting her leg and shaking it.

Silently, Snape resumed binding her to the mattress, keeping her arms and legs apart. There was little, if any, wiggle room, although he checked to be sure the knots weren't cutting into her skin. Lingering for a moment at her soft, smooth foot, he waited. "Well?"

"A gag," Hermione prompted. "The book was very explicit about that."

"No," Snape bit back, "Absolutely not."

"Severus, _please_, I want to try this! It's exciting."

"Not for your first time."

"If you don't, I'll do my best impression of Dumbledore the _whole_ time," Hermione threatened. "Moans and everything."

"I would find myself unable to sustain an erection for the rest of my life," Snape said dryly.

"Exactly! So for the sake of your genitals and my curiosity, _stuff a gag in my mouth_, if you please."

Sighing, Severus flicked his wand and Conjured a quick gag, which Hermione eagerly opened her mouth for. Stepping back, he surveyed his trussed prize, which he admitted was far more beautiful than he would have originally thought. This wasn't the first time he had seen a bound submissive, but there was an eager, curious light gleaming in Hermione's eyes which he never saw; normally the captive in question had either a crazed, hyper-stimulated glare or a dull, dazed expression. Neither of which appealed to him in the slightest. No, there was something…_primal_ about this whole thing; bound and gagged, he could do whatever he pleased. Even if what he pleased was sit in a corner and read, or spank the living daylights out of her, he could do either without repercussion.

He ran a hand down her ribcage, smoothing her thick bushy hair away from her shoulders. Her breasts, perky and beckoning, magnetized him and he couldn't resist suckling on one briefly. She arched her back and closed her eyes, almost preening at this display of attention.

There was another benefit to having Hermione bound like this—he could take his time. Hermione was insatiable, and her hands roamed constantly; an enthusiastic and appreciative lover was something he was unused to having, not to mention one who was much younger than he, and therefore had a shorter recovery time. He trailed a finger down between her breasts, the pads of his fingers tracing invisible outlines on her skin.

He knelt on the bed and slipped a hand between her legs, stroking her sopping quim. She squirmed violently and made a muffled noise through the gag; Snape looked up and saw the tinted pink cheeks, the curious expression giving way to a hot-eyed arousal.

Hermione struggled to slow her breathing. There was panic fluttering at the edges of her thoughts—Snape wouldn't hurt her. But he _could_ hurt her, very easily, secured in this position, and although that thought seemed incredibly arousing, it was also terrifying.

Those wickedly agile fingers manipulated her and she groaned into the gag once more. There was nothing she could touch—part of what she liked about sex with Snape was the ability to touch someone freely. Under normal circumstances, Hermione detested physical contact aside from the occasional hugs or handshakes, but given the opportunity she loved to explore. Skin against skin was a massively comforting feeling, and being deprived of that was tipping something in the mind.

Something was building in her, either a scream or an orgasm, she wasn't sure which. One more touch and she would die—she needed something to touch, she wanted to close her legs, cover her chest.

Snape _bit down_ on a nipple and she cried out in fright. The cliff was right there, right at the edge, and there was nothing to comfort her or keep her grounded, nothing but bedsheets and that horrible, horrible stimulation, the overwhelming arousal.

Abruptly, the ropes vanished, and she instantly curled into a ball.

"_Stop!"_

Silence, just runaway heartbeats and breathing. Hermione's cheeks were wet, and she instantly reached out and grabbed Snape's forearm. She pressed his palm flat and he knitted their fingers together as she fought to keep herself under control.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, and she couldn't bear to look at his face.

"Breathe," he ordered, ignoring the apology. "Relax. You're not hurt, Miss Granger."

"I know," Hermione said, and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. "I know, I know. B-but…you could have."

Snape prickled, and she could feel his hurt indignation. "You think so little of me, Miss Granger?"

"I know you wouldn't!" Hermione cried, looking up to meet his eyes finally. "It was just…too much."

He felt guilty. She could see it in his eyes, the hard set of his mouth.

"It's not your fault," she swallowed hard, "I…I wanted to try it, I'm so sorry."

"And I let you," he growled. "This is no fault of your own."

"I just…the book made it seem so easy, that it would be…"

"Miss Granger, you trust books entirely too much," Snape snapped. "There are some sources of information that must be discredited. I can speak from experience that _this_ must be broached slowly. Carefully. It is not something to rush into."

She nodded. "I like…I like touching something," Hermione finally admitted. "Someone."

Snape hated being touched.

Hermione seemed to sense this, and let go of his hand.

* * *

"_Harry_, you really need to stop this. You've been trying to incinerate Malfoy's head for an hour now."

Ginny tucked a long strand of fiery red hair behind her ear and resumed filing her report. Harry, whose boots were propped on the desk and quill was snapped in the drawer, had given up on the blasted papers several hours ago and instead decided to glare at Malfoy across the room. The blonde was chatting guilelessly with some innocent secretary, who no doubt found his slimy weasel face attractive, because she was blushing and had discreetly unbuttoned a button.

For some reason, this irked him.

"Why is he _here_," Harry grumbled under his breath. Ginny poked him with a quill.

"Because it's a job. And he needs one. Merlin knows the Malfoy family's in enough financial trouble," Ginny murmured, scratching away dutifully.

"What do you mean? The Malfoy's are rich as goblins," Harry groused.

"Not anymore. After the war they hit some rocky issues and they don't have nearly enough pull as they once did. Not to mention Narcissa's gone back to work since Lucius is under house arrest, so they're quite poor." Ginny said, sweetly malevolent and satisfied.

"Serves them right," he said, and doodled on a scrap of parchment.

"Harry," Ginny said, exasperated, "_please_ fill out your reports. I need to hand them over to Captain Robards by this afternoon, and you're the last one in the squad to finish."

"You're still doing yours," Harry pointed out.

"Only because I had to fill out Elphabias's this morning, he apparently drank something from a funny cauldron and is laid up in St. Mungo's with vanishing tonsils. _Get on it_. You're making the whole team look bad."

Harry shot one last death glare at Malfoy and pulled his heavy stack of papers towards him. There were some very unglamorous parts of being an Auror.

* * *

"Potter!"

Harry jerked awake, his glasses sliding off the end of his nose and cracking on the edge of his desk. Above him, leaning over the desk, was apparently Draco Malfoy, although the face was very blurry; Harry rubbed his eyes and fumbled around for his glasses.

"You haven't turned in your paperwork yet," Malfoy sneered. "Funny, I thought you'd be a little more _on top_ of this job."

"I am on top!" Harry said, outraged. "I was up all night and I didn't have time during the day—"

"Personal matters aside, you're overdue for your report, otherwise you'll have to give it _orally_," Malfoy said with a curl of his upper lip. "And I don't think you want that, I hear Robard's very hard to handle."

"I can handle anything," Harry said, getting up and stabbing a finger toward's Malfoy's face. "And by the way, don't think I haven't seen you flirting with Ginny. Stay away from her, d'you hear? Otherwise I'll have to put some of my Auror training to good use."

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Potter?" Malfoy exclaimed, sounding mockingly surprised. "I'll have to write you up a chit for that."

"_You're_ a chit," Harry growled.

"Girls!" Ginny shouted, smacking them both on the back of the head. "You've both got lovely dresses, now stop getting your knickers in a twist. Malfoy, if there's any punishments to be handed out, that's my job. Run along and fetch Shacklebolt's tea for him, like a good little lackey."

Malfoy's pale cheeks reddened but he did as he was told, turning and hurrying out of the room, his dark green robes billowing behind him.

"I had that under control," Harry protested.

"And _you_," Ginny said, rounding on him, "stop antagonizing Malfoy and fill out the damned paperwork! You're fantastic in the field, Harry, but you blow the little things off, like you _always_ do. You're behind on reports as it is, and if you don't finish them by tomorrow morning I _will_ have to write you up for it. Now get cracking!"

Harry watched his former girlfriend storm from the room, and threw his inkpot in a high bad temper. Dully, he poked the splattered ink with his wand to clean it up, and began writing.

* * *

"I'm telling you, they were inches away from snogging," Ginny told Luna furtively. "I thought for _certain_ Harry was going to haul him across the desk!"

"Harry's got a lot of negative energy bottled up," Luna said, her eyes huge and luminous behind the goggles she was wearing. The potions research lab was always full of odd smells and queer potions, and Ginny had to jump in order to avoid splatters from bubbling cauldrons.

"Well, it's been hard. I mean, for us to be working so close together," Ginny admitted, tugging on her ear. "Plus this whole thing with Hermione and Snape has got him a bit fuddled."

"I told Hermione that, once," Luna noted. "Snape is a very even-tempered man, but she didn't believe me."

Ginny ate a crisp and swiveled around on Luna's chair once more. "He's evenly bad tempered, I suppose," she shrugged. "but if Hermione's happy I don't mind. I don't know what she saw in my brother, honestly."

"Your brother can be a bit unkind, but he means well," Luna said, eye-dropping a thimbleful of bright pink liquid into an empty cauldron. "Not to mention he's very fetching."

The redhead choked. "_My_ brother?"

Luna blinked. "All of your brothers. Ron especially."

Ginny shook her head. "Luna, do you have a torch going for my brother?"

She cocked her head to one side. "If he were to ask me to accompany him for an evening, I wouldn't turn him down," Luna said honestly.

The Auror finished off her bag of crisps. "Ron would never ask you out," she assured Luna. "He's not…I mean, he doesn't really see your qualities."

"I know," Luna said sanguinely, "not many people do."

Ginny was overcome with a strange wave of both pity and admiration for Luna—it was an emotion she knew well. She pulled on her coat. "Come on," she insisted, "let's go for a drink. Should we talk to Harry? I mean, he's definitely got a thing for Malfoy."

"Perhaps we should give them a bit of a nudge," Luna said thoughtfully, washing her hands. "Harry's has too much going on in his mind right now, and perhaps a date with a friend will help alleviate that."

"If we set them up on a date, they'll be at each other's throats," Ginny sighed. "Maybe we could just drop little hints."

"Yes," Luna agreed, "subtlety is best."

* * *

The next morning, Harry came to work and found an enormous, splashy bouquet of roses on his desk, with a note attached.

_To: Harry Potter  
From: Draco Malfoy  
Hope you like them! 3_

Harry's reaction is perhaps better imagined than described.

* * *

_Can't write Luna for the life of me. _

_Would also like to note that I don't take the whole BDSM thing lightly at all, it scares the shit out of me to tackle such a big and tricky subject. It's so often misportrayed I'd like to get it right, but since I don't usually get tied down and spanked I need to do three buttloads of research._**-nylex**


	3. III

**deficiency  
**[3]

* * *

Hermione Granger was sprawled out over his bed, wearing only his green scarf, with her nose buried in a book.

He was surprisingly unsurprised. Snape closed the door behind him with a soft thump, but she didn't stir, and merely turned a page; there was rampant curiosity burning in her dark brown eyes, and from this angle he could see every inch of her long, slender back. Her arse, which had become a habit for study these past few weeks, was deliciously bare and her ankles were crossed in the air. Honestly, it would be tempting to just hike her knees a little higher and…

But no. There was a woman sitting on his bed out of her own volition, wearing his scarf, and reading his books. It was a surprise she came back to him at all, after what happened last time. Hermione had fled, drying her tears and collecting her knickers on the way out, but here she was, laying on his bed.

"And which book from my _private_ collection are you finding so engrossing?" Snape queried, unbuttoning his cuffs. Hermione jumped and looked up, a blush skimming her cheeks. (Both sets.)

"Oh! Sorry, I came to return your scarf, and I got a bit hot, and then I decided I'd just wait for you, because I read about something in a book that I want to try out. I had no idea that _sperm _had so many magical properties. We never used it in class." Hermione said, sitting up. Her frizzy, dirty-blonde brown hair fell over her shoulders and played peekaboo with her nipples.

"Can you imagine the ramifications?" Snape intoned, arching an eyebrow and shrugging off his waistcoat. "Two thousand teenagers, drenched with their own sloppy hormones, and for an assignment they would have to bring their spunk into class. The nation would suffer a crippling lubricant shortage."

Hermione giggled, and then hid her smile behind the book. After a moment she sobered. "I'm sorry for last time, you know. I didn't mean to push. I thought the practical application would be much easier, but I just…bit off a little more than I could chew. I'm willing to try again, slower this time."

"For such a brilliant woman you can be a very stupid little girl," Snape said dryly. Hermione recoiled, looking stung. "'_Practical application'_…you don't know _what_ you're asking for. And in good conscience I can't give it."

Her nostrils flared and she tilted her head back. "Don't know what I'm _asking_ for? Are you questioning my _research_? Because I can assure you, I know _exactly_ what I'm asking for. I want you to tie me up, I want you to spank me, because I want to _know_. I don't _know_ what my limits are because I haven't experienced them. I want to find them out. I…I _liked_ it when you tied me up. I just didn't know what to expect."

She took a deep breath. "But I want you to go slow. And I want a cuddle afterwards, maybe. And I reserve the right to touch you at any time, if I'm not restrained, that is."

Snape sat down at the edge of the bed. "Merlin, woman," he muttered, half exasperated, half exhausted.

Hermione sat next to him. "Please, Severus?"

She linked their fingers together and Snape was struck by the vibrant green scarf still hanging around her neck. Slytherin colors—they suited her. And the feel of her fingers against his didn't feel quite so alien.

"One session," he said sternly, trying to establish some kind of boundary.

But it was hopeless. One dazzling smile and he was sold. Now he understood why men were idiots over women; Hermione seemed to possess a laser of charm hiding just behind her eyes, and whenever she needed something she could turn it on and smack him right in the brain with foolishness. She kissed his cheek and tugged him back on the bed, tugging at his shirt.

"One session," she agreed. "There's rope in the bedside table, Professor."

* * *

Ginny arched an eyebrow at Hermione the next day, who was sitting rather awkwardly on the chair. "Problem, Hermione?" the Auror asked idly, polishing her wand carefully. A bit of clean steam was coming from the tip of the contented wand, and Ginny always liked cleaning it; the action grounded her.

Hermione bit her lower lip. "No, nothing. How are Harry and Malfoy? Are they at each other's throats yet?"

"Oh, of course," Ginny laughed. "Malfoy thinks Harry made the whole thing up. Harry's ticked at Malfoy, because he thinks the flowers were Malfoy's idea. He upended the dustbin over Malfoy's desk and Malfoy burnt a stack of papers on _Harry's_ desk. And then the two of them got into a row and Malfoy shoved Harry into a wall. If Shacklebolt hadn't stepped in I swear they would have been shagging on the floor in ten minutes time. And to think, it's all because Luna was trying to be _subtle_."

"Luna's such a dear," Hermione remarked fondly, and then shifted. "_Ow_."

"Do you have a sore bum?" Ginny asked pointedly.

Hermione flushed. "Well…a bit. Severus gave me a potion—"

"_Severus_?" Ginny interrupted shrewdly. "First name terms now?"

"I usually call him Professor," Hermione admitted sheepishly. "But Severus feels a bit more…I don't know. _Mature_. Anyway, we got a bit rough yesterday, and he gave me a potion to help with the ache—but I think it's wearing off, and it's a bit awkward to apply myself. So I'm waiting for him to come back."

The redhead shook her head. "It's cracked, you know. You and Snape. You _hated_ each other, and now you're buggering each other's brains out."

"Same goes for Malfoy and Harry," Hermione pointed out.

"I know, everybody's cracked," Ginny said sagely. "I'll be the lonely Auror with no male company except for my wand."

"_Ginny_," Hermione started laughing hard, hiding her mouth with her hand.

"This wand has served me _very_ well," the redhead added, waggling the wand suggestively. "I'll have you know that _Volvebatur_ is an exceptionally useful spell."

Hermione laughed so hard she forgot about her sore bum.

* * *

There was an exquisite torture to being blindfolded, Hermione decided. Snape, who was lightfooted to begin with, could be eerily silent and give the impression that she was alone in a room. She was kneeling alone in the middle of the room, holding her hands behind her back and pretending that she was wearing handcuffs; no matter how much she pouted Snape refused to use them. But being blindfolded almost made up for it, because there was a delicious, thrummy anticipation in her stomach; she didn't know where he was or what he was doing except for some faint rustling.

"Stand up, Miss Granger."

There was a roughness in his baritone voice that she had been previously unaware of. _Shiver_.

A strong, long-fingered hand wrapped around her wrist and led her over to the edge of the room, until the edge of a table bumped against her. She pressed her palms flat against the low table, which made her arse stick out a little.

"I realize you are adequate at a variety of subjects," Snape purred, "but tell me, Miss Granger—how well can you count?"

"Very well, in fact," Hermione answered.

_Smack!_

She yelped. It wasn't really a smack, more of a swat—the kind of spank a parent might give a naughty child.

"Then _count_ for me, Miss Granger. If you don't lose track I'll reward you with a nice little surprise." He commanded.

"Ow! One."

The swats were irregular and scattered all over her arse, some against the soft flesh of her thighs, others high near the line of her back. It didn't really _hurt_, per se, but once she got to seventeen there was a faint warm glow coming from her backside, a kind of light burn. She wiggled and he smacked her a bit harder, closer to the crease between her arse and thigh.

"Ah-_haha_! Nineteen!"

_Smack_! Hard this time, squarely on the right cheek. She squirmed.

"_Twenty!_"

"Well done, Miss Granger, you can count," Snape said silkily. "It hardly tests your intelligence, however. There's a tray before you—what's on it?"

Hermione groped forward and her wandering fingers hit the lip of the tray. "Herbs," she said after a moment. "And roots."

"Your intellect is dizzying," Snape retorted. "Please elaborate."

The tip of her fingers snagged on a spiky, thorny something, and she scratched at the stem with a nail. "Roses," she murmured aloud, getting a waft of dried rose scent, reminding her powerfully of old perfume.

"Continue," Snape ordered, and she heard him kneeling.

Her traveling fingers hit something ice cold in a small dish, and she was about to start asking questions when she felt his warm breath huff over her lower back. Those strong hands spread her legs and she arched her back, feeling something twinge in her belly. "S-something frozen," she mumbled.

"How astute."

He pressed a kiss against the dimple in her lower back, and she bit her lower lip. The ingredients, must concentrate on the ingredients! She couldn't identify the frozen things, other than they were orb-shaped and very cold, so she moved on; there was a small dish of a rough pebbly powder, something that had been ground by mortar and pestle. There was zero scent so she couldn't tell what it was.

Snape kissed her inner thigh and then lapped at her quim, making her cry out.

"Concentrate, Miss Granger."

"Peppermint," she said stupidly. She couldn't find it but she could _smell_ the blasted thing. "And…something crushed."

There were dried petals beneath her palms now and she pressed them together, grinding and smelling something sharp, almost painfully sweet. Her fingertips went a little numb. "Belladonna," she reported, just as Snape's wickedly talented tongue found that sensitive pearl hidden among her folds. "_Ah!"_

She gripped the edge of the table and he waited, rocking back on his heels, for Hermione to control herself. Once she could, he resumed. "Peppermint, rose thorns, and belladonna," she rattled off, digging her nails into the wood. "The frozen things must be Ashwinder eggs, which means…moonstone! The crushed powder is moonstone! This is a love potion!"

"Twenty points for Gryffindor," Snape growled, and attacked her.

* * *

Later, in bed, Hermione rested her head against Snape's bare chest.

"Allotted cuddling time, minimum of twenty minutes," Hermione yawned, and promptly snuggled next to him.

"_Maximum_ of twenty minutes," Snape corrected.

"Let's call it forty and split the difference," Hermione said softly, already half-asleep.

There was a very unusual expression on Snape's face, one that Hermione missed completely; it could almost be described as _fond_.

* * *

_Just a quick something I threw together for you guys._

_Also, Ginny, protip: you shouldn't use your wand like that. Better witches than you have lost ovaries, you know. **-**_**nylex**


	4. IV

**deficiency  
**[4]

* * *

Harry glared at himself in the mirror. What was wrong with him lately? His temper was short and he was picking fights with nearly everyone, including Ron and Hermione, which was rather unlike him. Ginny had threatened to write him up this morning, and he told her to go sod off—ten minutes later there was a little green slip pasted to his desk. Harry scowled at his reflection and swiped his hands through his hair, scrubbing his scalp with his nails.

It was Malfoy. Really, it had to be. Every time Harry caught sight of his narrow, weaselly face a surge of frustration and childish anger would flare up in him. It was enough to drive someone mad, and Harry felt some kind of simmering feeling, like he wanted to push Malfoy against a wall and smack him. Or something. Malfoy was so _self-satisfied_ and _smug_, putting a different expression on his face would be lovely.

Harry pushed open the door to one of the cubicles and locked it, sitting on the closed toilet. He had to get himself under control. No matter how much Malfoy irritated him, he couldn't let it get in the way of his job. Yesterday, he had broken up a ring of Death Eater sympathizers, who thought it would be good sport to throw some Muggles off of buildings and catch them with Cushioning charms, and then repeating the process. Ginny had written in her report that he "apprehended the criminals with unnecessary aggression", but really, Harry just wanted to give them a taste of their own medicine.

Maybe he was bored. It was tiring, not being able to go out in public without a disguise, for fear of reporters and fans flocking to him, asking for autographs and interviews. He definitely had _something_ pent up. And he needed to do something about sighed. Tonight, he would ask Ron to play some Quidditch with him. Flying always settled his head and helped with any boredom or frustration.

There was the sound of tape cracking off a roll, and Harry looked up. The door to the loo had opened some time ago, but he hadn't heard a cubicle shut; who was out there, using tape?

He unlocked the door and stepped towards the sinks. Then he stopped short.

Malfoy was there, Spello-taping his shoes. The polished loafers, Harry noticed, had a worn crack through them and obviously the Water-Repelling charm was wearing of. The sole was coming apart and Harry saw that there was a hole in Malfoy's sock.

The blonde's cheeks tinted bright red. "Skulking in the loo, are we now, Potter?" Malfoy sneered.

Harry had never seen Malfoy wear anything less than the most expensive robes and the best looking clothes; Ginny's comment about the Malfoy family being bankrupt flashed into his mind.

Draco shoved his loafer onto his foot and glared at Harry. "Stop looking at me like that, _Potter_," Draco growled, "Your pity isn't needed."

Harry was blinking, looking down at Draco's covered foot. The Malfoy's were in trouble. There was…something like pity? And he realized abruptly that it couldn't possibly have been Draco who sent him those flowers. He wouldn't have been able to afford it. The idea of Draco _not being able to afford something_ was messing up his head. Draco, who had the beautiful falcon for mail deliveries, who had the Firebolt before anyone else, who flaunted his father's money at every opportunity, was pinching pennies.

"Do you want to play some Quidditch with me?" Harry asked simply.

"Piss off," Malfoy said deliberately, knocking his shoulder as he passed. Harry grabbed his arm.

"Don't be a dick, I'm just trying—"

"Just trying to _what_, Potter? Invite me on a _date_?" Malfoy sneered. "Or are you trying to dazzle me with your superior broomstick and flying skills?"

_DatedatedatedateFUCKwhat?_

"I'm just trying to be _nice!_" Harry said, outraged. "If you don't want to come—"

"I _don't_ want to come," Malfoy snarled. "Why don't you ask one of your Mudblood friends to come, I'm sure they'd be _great_ sport. Get the fuck out of my way, Potter, don't make me hex you."

"Hey, leave my friends out of this," Harry snapped. "It was just a friendly invite, nothing more."

"I'm _sure_," Malfoy's upper lip curled. "Ooh, let's invite _Malfoy_, so we can gloat over how well-off we're doing. It's bad enough that you flaunt your _Savior_ status like you're some kind of _god_, but don't expect me to grovel at your feet to get an invite from the _great and powerful_ Harry Potter."

Harry seized Malfoy by the front of his robes, shoving him hard against the wall. "I'm not a _savior_ of anything!" he barked, "_You_, of all people, should know that! I was in the right place at the right time, that's _it_. People look to me like I have the answers when I _don't_, when really all I want to do is play Quidditch and drink some butterbeer and watch crap telly—I didn't ask to be _worshipped_!"

Malfoy's face was so close, and there was so much frustration exploding inside him right now. He wanted to ki—_kill_ him.

Swearing, Harry let go of Malfoy's robes and slammed out of the loo.

Draco straightened his lapel and checked his nails, and then smoothed his hair in the mirror. "Almost, Potter," he said under his breath. "_Almost_."

* * *

Hermione let out a deep breath, resting her forehead against Snape's. She was _deliciously_ filled, with his hands on her hips, and it was like being wrapped up and cuddled and flown together all at once. With their bodies pressed together, the fire crackling not far away, it was almost too hot—skin to skin, she felt heat searing through her veins, and she pressed closer to his chest; she wanted to _burn_.

His armchair, the poor thing, squeaked in protest, and Hermione giggled, somewhat drunkenly, in his ear. "We're going to kill your poor armchair," she whispered.

He set his teeth against the taut line of her shoulder gently, and she shivered. "I'll send you a bill for the damages, Miss Granger," he hissed.

She rose an inch or so and then slammed back down, bearing down on his cock and feeling him throb inside of her. Severus groaned and let his head fall back, and he gripped Hermione's small waist, hard enough to nearly bruise, and snapped upwards Hermione cried out and gripped a handful of his hair, the silky black strands twisting through her fingers, as he bit sharply down on her neck.

"I want to _wreck_ you," she breathed—pleaded. "I want to _ruin_ you for all other women."

The automatic response bubbled up in Severus's brain. _You already have, Miss Granger_.

She came down again, and those wickedly agile hands found that sensitive bud, and she moaned, tilting her head back. He pressed hard, punishing kisses to every inch of skin he could reach, biting and sucking and wanting to mark all of her, every place. He was her Dark Mark, and in the dim light of his study she was almost as scarred and damaged as he.

Hermione crested, pleading, panting his name, and a few moments afterwards she felt his release spilling inside of her. Hyperstimulated, she thrashed as he stroked her pearl; enjoying her reaction, he did it again, and she cried out in earnest. "_Severus_," she pleaded, and then let her head fall against his shoulder, her breasts pressed softly against his chest.

Those eyes, soft and brown as sable, looked up at him with so much intensity and love; she glowed, her cheeks rosy and her hair mussed, those pouty lips begging to be kissed.

He nearly did. But at the last moment he pressed a kiss to her jaw instead, nipping at the hinge, and she positively _whined_. "You're too good to me," she whispered, slipping out of him. They sat there in the armchair, both out of breath, enjoying the heat and the post-coital glow. Hermione was insatiable, biting his ear, pressing tiny kisses to his face, stroking the bridge of his nose with one finger, half-asleep already in his lap.

"Correction, Miss Granger—I am not, and will never be, _good_," he murmured against her throat.

"I think you are," she said softly. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Professor. You're good, you're kind, and you're _mine_."

* * *

Ginny sighed and looked at her mother. "Mum," she said out loud, "is Ron going to the Ministry party?

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley said, scrubbing potatoes. "Why do you ask? Aren't you taking Harry, love?"

The redheaded witch huffed out a breath. "_No._ Harry's got enough on his plate. But I was thinking, maybe Ron should take Luna. She's got…I mean, she's got a bit of a _thing_ for him."

"Luna Lovegood?" Mrs. Weasley said, raising one eyebrow. "My, my, there must be something in the air! Hermione and Snape, Luna and Ronnie…too many unusual couples!"

_Draco and Harry_, Ginny thought to herself, smiling. "And I was thinking of taking Blaise," she added, kissing her mother on the cheek. "'Night, Mum!"

Molly dropped the potato. "_Blaise?"_

* * *

_So I broke my hand. Which is why this chapter is so short. But I'm going to try and regularly update now, every Saturday, because multi-chapter stories scare the SHIT out of me. anyway. Hope you liked this chapter, it's a bit of fluff and nothing._

_Oh and draco and harry are making out in the next chapter. mmmhmmm.- _**nylex**


	5. V

**deficiency  
**[5]

* * *

The Ministry occasionally threw lavish, ridiculously over-the-top displays in the wintertime, where they exchanged gifts and dropped a New Year's ball, but it was all rather haphazard, in the way most wizards viewed Muggle traditions. Harry had begun it a few years ago, and Kingsley had taken to it with gusto, and now it was a mandatory attendance for all of the higher-ups. Which, of course, meant Harry and his "Golden Trio". He had brought Ginny one year, but now she came in her own right, considering she was queuing up for the Head Auror position. Apparently she was bringing a date, that should be interesting.

Ron was waiting for him downstairs, looking miserable. "Mum's making me bring _Luna_," he moaned. "She'll wear something _mad_, Harry, I know it!" he said, making it sound as though bringing Luna to a dance would permanently destroy his self-esteem.

Harry chuckled, patting him on the back. "Cheer up. At least you have a date."

The ginger harrumphed. "You could've had your pick, you know. My sister included." Ron, at times, became miffed that things hadn't worked out between Harry and Ginny, and then went through bouts of relief.

"No, Gin's bringing her own date I heard," Harry said, and took the flowerpot off the mantle. "Shall we? I'm sure Luna's waiting."

"Oh yeah, let's hurry up and find Looney Lovegood," Ron muttered, and threw the Floo powder into the fireplace. "Ministry Ballroom!" he shouted, stepping inside.

Harry smiled to himself followed suit. There were times when he thought Ron just _liked_ to complain.

* * *

Blinking and dusting ash off his lapels, Harry scanned the room. Apparently Ginny, Hermione, and Luna had come early, since they had been shopping the day before and decided to attend together. Music floated dreamily through the air, and an enormous crooked Christmas tree stood proudly in one corner, festooned with lovely ornaments; already, more than a hundred people were already there, broken off into small groups and chatting. A dance floor held several couples waltzing to slow music, and there were Christmas lights hanging in the air, small multi-colored candles Levitated over their heads. The effect was rather corny, but wildly cheerful.

He recognized Ginny's flaming red hair and athletic build, and noticed she was talking to some slender, elegant woman in a backless dress.

It took him a moment to realize that it was _Hermione_ wearing a backless dress.

She didn't look a thing like herself. She had…_done something_ with her makeup and her eyes were large, dark, and bright, her hair was fluffed into a loose pile on her head; her cheekbones seemed sharp and her lips were stained red. Hermione fiddled with a wineglass and looked almost awkward, standing still wearing pumps—_pumps!_—and an outrageous black velvet dress that shimmered with beading. It was black, of course, because Hermione looked amazing in black.

Ginny noticed him staring. "That," she told Hermione matter-of-factly, "is the exact expression Professor Snape is going to be wearing when he sees you in that dress. His eyes are going to pop out and we're going to need to Conjure a bucket to catch all the drool."

Hermione's cheeks flamed red. "Don't be ridiculous," she mumbled, "I didn't wear this for _him._"

"Of course you did," Ginny laughed and winked.

"Did you wear the green knickers?" Luna asked dreamily, nearly smirking. "He's going to _love_ the green knickers."

Luna was, for once, dressed surprisingly normal, wearing a very Ginny-ish blue dress. Her white-blonde hair was in ringlets and she wore a silver speckled cat mask, which suited her rather well; her skyscraper silver pumps, though, made her tower over Ron and Ginny. Harry nudged Ron, who had taken note and perked up.

"_Yes_, I wore the green knickers, now will you _please shut up_?" Hermione hissed between her teeth.

"Good," Luna said mistily, "he'll _love_ the green knickers, especially with the Slytherin insignia right on your—"

"Luna! Please! For the love of _God_, do shut up!" Hermione squeaked.

Ginny burst into giggles and signaled the server for champagne. "Oh, this night is going to be lovely," she said. The server came over and she turned to gather some glasses, tapping each one with her wand and turning the fizzy liquid pink.

"To us! This is going to be a lovely night," Ginny said with a warm smile.

They all clinked drinks and downed them, with the exception of Ginny, who paused and smiled. Hermione noticed and quirked a curious brow, but Ginny merely shook her head mysteriously.

"Well," Ron said, sounding a bit less like a hanged man, "would you like to dance, Luna?"

"I'd _love_ to," Luna beamed, taking his arm.

"Gin—" Harry asked, about to ask _How about a dance for old time's sake?_ when he spotted a familiar blond head. A little voice inside his head told him to go get a drink. A drink sounded like an _excellent _idea right now. Perhaps he'd get one for Malfoy as well. "Er, well, I'm going to the bar," Harry said, and smiled broadly at the group. "See you in a bit!"

Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear and drank a little more of her pink champagne. What would Professor Snape say when he saw her in this dress? Half of her wanted him to attack her and drag her off into the hallway, to be _appreciative_ of her Slytherin other half wanted to go home and make sure he never saw her in this get-up. It wasn't…_her. _She took another sip for courage.

"Look! There's your Professor, Hermione," Ginny said, grinning. "Go over and watch his jaw break his knees."

Her heart leapt into her throat. "He's not _my_ Professor," she mumbled, but went off in the direction of the flowing black robes anyway. He was deep in conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt, sounding very serious and quiet. Hermione hesitated; was it a good idea to break up a meeting? What would she _say_? Why was she so nervous over all of this? Above all, her head was full of little voices, telling her to do this and that—what had _been_ in that drink Ginny gave her? It had to be laced with something in it, without a question.

"Minister, I think it's not a very well advised—"

Severus stopped short.

Standing before him was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, looking up at him with hope and fear in equal amounts. All he could register was _soft_—the soft sheen of her full lower lip, the soft curl of her hair, the gentle swell of her hips, the shimmery fabric of her dress. She was a _touchable_ kind of beauty, a beauty that magnetized and begged to be stroked, petted, caressed.

She was beautiful.

"Miss _Granger._" His voice dipped into a low, honeyed growl, making her shiver."You look lovely this evening."

"Um, thanks. I mean, yes, thank you. I came over here to say, uhm, would you like to eat? They're…they're forming lines for food and I thought we could get a table together." Hermione stuttered. Professor Snape looked as though he wanted to devour her.

"Of course. If you'll excuse me, Minister."Snape nodded formally and turned to Hermione_._

And just like that, _her professor_ dropped the Minister of Magic cold to follow her, and Hermione felt a flicker—no, a _surge_—of power. He liked how she looked. She felt _sexy_, dangerous, and powerful. He had been right, it _was_ a weapon. Hermione put a little sway into her hips and turned around, lowering her lashes. "I'm so sorry to have interrupted your conversation with the Minister."

"It was nothing. You made a much more enticing offer," he murmured silkily in her ear, allowing Hermione to slip her hand into the crook of his elbow.

"So_, _you like it?" Hermione asked, playing coy. "Ginny picked it out. She thought I ought to go with something a little more formal for tonight."

"Remind me to thank Miss Weasley later."

"I think you'll be too _busy_…later." Hermione almost covered her mouth. Had she said that out loud? With no thought? This dress was intoxicating.

His eyes narrowed. "Vixen. We should skip dinner," he suggested, purring.

"No!" Hermione protested. "I want to dance, and besides, I'm hungry. We have plenty of time to play later."

"There's never enough time," he muttered under his breath, following her to a table.

* * *

Harry was, in fact, gloriously pissed.

The barkeep had been thrilled to see the great Harry Potter, and kept serving him free drinks. The pink champagne Ginny had given him was still knocking him hard in the head however, and right now he wanted to play Quidditch. Or snuggle. Actually, he'd really love a cuddle with someone right about now, he felt so drunk and lovely it was wonderful. What had been in that drink Ginny gave him?

"Turning to alcohol to numb the pain, Potter?" a sneering voice at his elbow said.

It was Malfoy. Git. "You're a _git_," Harry said aloud.

There was a pause. "Tell me something I'm not already aware of, Potter."

"You're fucking gorgeous," Harry stopped. Had that come out of his mouth?

Malfoy smirked. "My, my, how many drinks _have_ you had? Half the ocean must be inside of you."

_But _I'm_ not inside of you_, Harry thought, and just like that everything clicked. _That's_ why he hated Malfoy. Not always. He always hated Malfoy because he was a little shit. But now he was a gorgeous little shit, with red lips and blonde hair perfect for tugging and…

"I'm not _gay_," Harry mumbled, shocked. "What…? I'm _not_."

"Really?" Draco asked, signaling for a brandy. He took a sip. "You could have fooled me, Potter."

Harry felt his hackles rise. "I'm _not_."

"Prove it."

"Are you calling me _gay_?" Harry snapped, enraged. How _dare_ he insinuate that he wanted to fuck Malfoy senseless against the arm of the nearest couch? How _dare _he _imagine_ that he wanted Malfoy on his knees, sucking his cock and looking up at him with that slant-eyed smirk?

Malfoy checked his nails. "As a matter of fact, I am. Do we have a problem, Potter?"

Harry swung at Malfoy's blond, perfect, git head. Not hard. Well, maybe a bit hard.

It happened so suddenly, and then they were all over the place; glass and barstools and teeth and blood, nails and fists. They rolled over and over, until Harry pinned a rather unresisting Draco to the ground, amid the shattered remains of their glasses. At least two hundred partygoers looked on as Harry snogged his nemesis senseless.

_God_, it was _hot_ and _wet_ and Draco tasted like sour brandy and something else. Somethinglike old hatred and new beginnings and the _idea_ of that talented tongue swirling around his length was making him hard in his trousers. Draco's slender fingers were tangled in his hair and the two of them were _biting _at each other now, pulling at lips and jaws, the blond pressing hard, suckling kisses to his neck and ear, and Harry groaned in pleasure.

He left a rather harsh hickey on Draco's throat and growled, "I am _not_ gay!"

Draco sneered up at him. "Oh? Then you'll be able to fuck me with no problem, right? Straight man like you?"

Harry hauled him upwards, dragging him towards the restrooms. "Yeah! Yeah, with no problem!" he snapped.

"Idiot," Draco said idly, setting his teeth against Harry's ear and then pulling him down for a kiss. "Such a _fucking_ idiot, Potter."

* * *

Hermione let her head fall on Severus's chest. "I wonder where Harry is," she murmured. The music was slow, soft, and sad, and she could feel the warmth of his hand on the small of her bare back. The drink Ginny had given her was making her head deliciously fuzzy, and she wondered for the umpteenth time what the ginger had slipped into it. Those sly smiles Ginny kept giving her were definitely not innocent.

Severus hadn't responded, and Hermione looked up. "What's the matter, Professor?" she asked.

His mouth was tight. "You're beautiful, Miss Granger."

The words rested on her heart, and she nuzzled a little closer. "Thank you."

"I have a tendency to break beautiful things." Severus said flatly.

She looked up into Severus's dark, impenetrable eyes, and smiled at him. "Oh, Professor…it's a little late for that."

And it was. Because he would _never_ break her, he was too gentle with her—almost kind, in his own way. There wasn't a person on earth who could make her feel this safe. She _trusted _him.

Hermione kissed him, then, standing on tiptoe. One gloved hand rested on his lapel, almost politely, asking a question without saying a word. It was like falling forward a little, letting her mouth open and it was like giving him a little bit of her soul through her lips. He froze, uncertain, and then…

And then he kissed her back.

His hands cupped her jawline, tilting her head and kissing her like the world would end. It was almost _desperate,_ and Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat, because she realized why they had never kissed until now. Kisses were honest; there were no barbs to hide behind, no clever quip or sarcastic remark.

The whole world stopped and turned on a pivot, because _nothing else mattered_. It was just the two of them, entwined, allowing themselves something selfless in a world of selfish people. And all of a sudden she didn't care that she was kissing her professor, that this would be headline news tomorrow, that it would be a scandal, a tragedy, because the whole world imagined she would havemarried Ron. But it didn't matter, because…because of something. Hermione's mind couldn't stop whirring, thinking over and over _This is kissing Severus. This. All of this. This—and this—and—this…_

_And this._

She pulled back after a final chaste kiss.

"I think…" she began.

_I think I…_

"I think we should leave," Hermione whispered against his lips. "I'm wearing…well, I'll leave it a surprise, but Luna picked out a pair of knickers she thought you'd like."

He nipped her lower lip and then murmured, "And we both know Miss Lovegood has _impeccable_ taste in fashion. I sincerely hope they're not edible or flashing or neon."

"None of the above," Hermione laughed softly. "Let's leave."

* * *

Ron sat down next to the fountain. It had not been a horrible evening, and Luna had kept her moony-eyed prophecies to a minimum. They had waltzed, with Luna leading him stridently around the dance floor, and then the two of them had tried every single thing at the buffet table, eating off one another's plates. It had been…kind of nice, actually.

Up close, Luna's eyes were _very_ blue.

"Would you like to kiss?" she asked, somewhat hopefully. "If you don't want to, I won't mind. But if it's not too inconvenient, I'd very much like to kiss you."

Harry most likely was shagging Malfoy's brains out in the restroom. Hermione and Snape were kissing like a pair of besotted lovers on the dance floor. His sister was dating a _Slytherin._

"Why not," he sighed.

Luna gave him a dazzling smile, and Ron felt his heart thump a little. A girl had _never_ looked at him like that. So what if Luna didn't have all of her marbles, neither did Lavender. Besides. Luna had grown on him.

The sparkling fountain provided a lovely backdrop for them, who looked for all the world like a couple madly in love.

* * *

Ginny laughed out loud and leaned against Blaise. "Oh, _Merlin_, I'm good," she chuckled.

"Potter snogging my old school mate, Granger getting it on with my favorite professor. Somehow I think you're behind this, little minx." Blaise said quietly, his brown-black eyes crinkled only slightly at the corners. He was strikingly handsome, dark-skinned and broad-shouldered, with a kind of easy, feline grace that would horrify Mrs. Weasley. Ginny considered him quite a catch.

"A bit. It was only a nudge. It's a kind of…Felix Felicis, I think? My brothers made it. 'Lucky potion to help _you_ get lucky tonight'." Ginny said happily. "It's harmless."

Blaise smirked. "So where can I acquire my own little pink champagne? There's a redhead I'd like to get lucky with."

She slid a hand over his thigh and pressed a bit of material into his palm. "_You_ don't need any potion," she breathed in his ear. Ginny stood, straightened her skirt, and headed towards the exit.

Blaise tucked the lacy black knickers into his pocket. "Minx," he said again, and followed her.

* * *

_Posting this a little earlier in the day because I have a DRs appointment this evening. God this one was fun to write. COUPLES EVERYWHERE. _

_And I basically owe **araeofsomething** my firstborn, she's helped so much to fix my rambling sentences and lack of description. Also I'm thinking of writing a story where Severus is mandated by the Ministry to visit a therapist. thoughts?** -nylex**_


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